


Nothing Could Ever Stop Me (From Saving You)

by juhaal



Series: Age Reversal AU [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Cussing but not too much, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Like really protective, Oops, Protective Damian Wayne, Villains here are totally unoriginal, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juhaal/pseuds/juhaal
Summary: "At that moment he understood Jason’s talk about Damian’s overprotectiveness being such a predictable factor for villains. "-Five times Damian saved his younger siblings - and one time his family saved him.
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd & Dick Grayson
Series: Age Reversal AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767217
Comments: 12
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope everyone is ok :D 
> 
> This can be read as a stand alone, but it would be certainly better to read the first part first! 
> 
> About the ages:  
> 1\. Damian is 17 and Cass is 11;  
> 2\. Damian is 19 and Tim is 14;  
> 3\. Damian is 19 and Stephanie is 14;  
> 4\. Damian is 23 and Jason is 15;  
> 5\. Damian is 23, Tim and Stephanie are 18, Cass is 17, Jason is 15 and Dick is 11.
> 
> Hope everyone likes it! ^^

She had not been enough. 

She had seen it happening like it was all in slow motion. The sword going through her brother’s chest, the numerous arrows stuck all over his body, the disbelief and sense of betrayal all over his features; the memory haunted her all the time, relentless, not giving her mind any peace during the day or night. The guilt over not  _ saving _ Damian was the worst. She was the best in combat skills between them, it didn’t matter that she was only eleven - she should have saved him.

Cass stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, lying on her bed silently, always silently, feeling her heart too heavy and strong when she felt herself so weak. 

She should have been better.  _ Stronger _ . 

She sat on her bed, despair becoming grieving determination, and soon she was putting clothes inside a handbag together with her documents and the cash she had been saving everytime Bruce gave her money. Looking around for what she thought would be the last time she saw her own room for a bit of a time, she crept silently with light feet through her door, passing the dark corridor of the almost empty manor with her mind set on finding the person that could make her better -  _ stronger _ . 

If she happened to confirm that that person was also her mother, like the few clues she had gathered insinuated, it would only be a bonus. It was not like she  _ wanted _ to confirm it. Never.

However, when she passed  _ his _ door, she found it was ajar. 

Damian’s room became sacred ground after his death, for no one to enter. Yet, it seemed that someone  _ had _ entered it. Could have been Alfred? Bruce? 

She felt torn. She wanted to feel his presence one last time before leaving for God knows how long - but she knew that if she entered that room, Cass could very well never leave Gotham in the first place. Tiny noises coming from inside his bedroom made the decision for her, and quietly Cass stepped into her brother’s room with her heart pounding frantically inside her ribcage and it’s rhythm reverberating inside her head. 

The first thing she noted was how it was just like Damian had left it. Her brother wasn’t messy by nature, and yet the tiny signs of disorderly showed how his mind had been far away from here the days previous to his murder. The unmade bed, the few clothes thrown over his chair and his drawing materials all over his desk beside his open sketch book - it was like he was never focused enough to leave it all tidy how he liked. 

The second thing she noted was the perpetrator of the noises she had heard: Alfred the Cat, jumping from furniture to furniture until stopping at Damian’s chair. The cat started to mewl at her, pawing at Damian’s hoodie and sniffing it, almost as if he wanted her to put it over the cushion of the chair so he could sit over it and be nearer his friend’s scent. 

With her brown eyes filling with tears and her heart breaking a little bit more after hearing Alfred’s pitiful meowing, Cass walked to Damian’s desk, picked Alfred up, sat herself on the chair and put Damian’s hoodie over her lap before putting Alfred there too. The cat purred as soon as he was put over the hoodie, circling Cass’s lap finding the best position to lay on it. She petted him softly, looking down at the animal and feeling the hole inside her opening even more. 

Distractedly she looked at Damian’s sketch book, gasping quietly with the last drawing he had been doing before it all went sideways. 

It was of their little family. Alfred, Bruce, Damian and herself, with Alfred clearly holding back a smile (with laughing old eyes), Bruce smirking sideways while messing Damian’s spiky hair and herself in a ballerina pose. 

It wasn’t finished, yet in dark lines of charcoal it was  _ perfect _ .

She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, because she would never again have her big brother by her side. She would never again pester him on doing whatever she wanted just to spend time with him. Cass would never see his exasperated fondness directed at her by his always too expressive blue eyes. 

She continued to flip through the pages, crying silently at every new drawing, even the ones of Alfred the Cat, or the landscapes around the manor, especially the ones of  _ her _ making perfect ballet poses, jumping in the air or in the middle of a spin. It was just too telling. 

Damian had tried so hard to show himself impenetrable… 

It suddenly was just  _ too much.  _ She stood while picking up Alfred hastily, intending to finally leave. The cat clearly didn’t like it a little bit, jumping from her hands to the desk over the sketch book, and on his haste to run away accidentally sending it all to the floor in a mess of pencils and erasers and every other item her brother used to create his drawings. 

“Silly cat…” Cass mumbled, sniffing and crouching to take the mess from the ground to the desk once again. She couldn’t leave it all scattered that way. Damian had always put too much love into his things, especially everything related to his drawing hobby.

For an act of destiny, she flipped through the last pages of the sketch book, the ones she expected to be bare. Except, one of them was filled almost completely with a drawing of herself together with  _ Steph and Tim.  _ All three were laughing, huddled together on the denn’s floor like they had just fallen from playing twister. All the details were stunning, just too perfect for words. She gasped, staring unblinkingly at the perfection in front of her, a rendition she would never have expected from Damian - he didn’t even  _ like _ her friends! And yet, their eyes were exuberant, their  _ body language  _ was full of love and acceptance for each other and their laughs could almost be  _ heard _ . Their voices, tones and inclinations, just looking at them at that single page evoked such a synesthesia that Cass felt blown away with the absolute  _ love _ Damian had poured into this one - she could hear it all, their playfulness, their fun. She could almost believe it to be a home made movie, and not a static drawing. 

It felt like family, too. Just like the one with Alfred and Bruce and Damian. 

The hole inside her heart was filled to the brim with absolute and unquestioning  _ love _ . She had been ignoring her friends after Damian’s death, because she couldn’t deal with the thought of losing anyone else she cared for - so if they were apart, she would not care any longer, right? But she knew it didn’t work that way. 

They were family. 

_ Damian _ remembered her of that, even not being present anymore.

And if she couldn’t save and protect her big brother, she would do it for these two. Who cared about a mother that she never met, when she already had a growing family that loved her just so damn much? 

She asked quietly for his forgiveness as she ripped the drawing from the sketch book and took it to her room.

And everytime her eyes ended up looking at it she felt Damian inside her heart with strength enough to make her breathless for a few moments.

-

Tim knew Damian must hate him. 

(That could happen when: 1) you had died, then later discovered to been brought back to life and left lost on your own for a few months, and by an act of destiny remembered who you were after discovering your Father took guardianship over your little sister’s blonde friend and as Batman took your sister’s other little friend as Batboy,  _ your _ mantle; and 2) when apparently everyone had effectively moved on from your death within a year. 

So yep, Tim could totally see how Damian must hate him.

Even if the circumstances of Tim becoming Batboy probably weren’t the ones Damian thought, but, who cares right?)

Yet, he couldn't stop admiring the older boy. Clearly flawed, with a temper to be reckoned with - but soft with the ones he cared for and loyal to a fault. He had seen it all before Damian died, when he followed Batman and Batboy through the nights of Gotham and after he discovered their civilian identities, being capable of seeing them as a family almost on a daily basis. 

So when he discovered - via snooping a little bit on Bruce's online traces, oops - that Damian was  _ alive _ , a year after he had died, Tim knew that even if the older boy hated his guts he had to go talk to him. He could not let Damian keep away from his family because of him - it was actually his first argument when he reasoned with himself; however, Tim knew that the real reason was that he was clearly a masochistic fan boy to the original Batboy (who had hated being attached to that name but was helpless to change it after the criminals and the media stuck calling him that). So, yep, Tim  _ may _ have been giddy with the chance to finally talk to the other boy, now known to be alive, as someone that was  _ in  _ on the secret. 

Therefore it was only a matter of a few days for him to locate Damian on Metropolis, break in his motel room and wait for him to show up. 

It went as bad as you can imagine, but at least Tim left the place alive and without serious injuries (Totally a win in his opinion!).

Tim thought that was that. He knew Damian must hate him too much to accept it all, and even if Bruce was hurting from the distance and Cass was almost going crazy wanting to hunt down her big brother and force him back home, Tim was certain things would keep that way for a long time still. 

Almost six months later, he was kidnapped by the Joker. 

Apparently, things could change really quickly if you pushed the right buttons. 

“Oh, little bat! We are going to have  _ so much fun _ !” The Joker laughed hysterically, staring at Tim with crazed eyes.

“I think we actually have different opinions about what that entails.” Tim had quipped, trying to keep his voice steady and strong. “Are you sure going to the movies wouldn’t be a better idea?” He tried pulling his bindings, searching for any opening to get himself out of that situation.

“Oh don’t fret, little bat, the show I have planned will be entertainment  _ enough _ .” The clown’s voice became a whisper at the last word, and before he could stop it from happening, a needle connected to a syringe full of a liquid Tim a few minutes later realized was Fear Toxin pricked inside his forearm-

“Scarecrow was nice enough to send you a little gift. Lets appreciate it, shall we?” 

\- and he was lost. 

There was pain, despair,  _ fear so much fear _ , and it all felt like an eternity. Moments of lucidity  _ pain pain shock pain Junior pain too much pain _ were tightly intertwined with moments of pure unaltered  _ terror  _ induced by the toxin, and Tim didn’t know what was real and what was not anymore. 

He wasn’t conscious enough, but Tim was almost sure he babbled and begged Batman to save him - only to have the psychotic clown laugh at his face. 

It went on, and on, and on,  _ and on _ -

“What will I do, now? I  _ did _ have a few days to play for a bit, and I am getting tired of this. Besides, you turned out to be a waste of my time, you know that? Not a single worthy information about the Big Bat. Why would I want to know how he takes his coffee, anyway? So disap _ pointing _ . ” The Joker wondered out loud, circling Tim’s crumpled, hurt and tired form over the table, the boy still wearing his torned up uniform and domino mask. At least his identity was still intact - not that would make a great difference. “Well, let’s take this to the next level. Batsy apparently is not going to find you, so I get to do what I really want. Between the two of us, he sure is losing his touch, isn’t he? Such a  _ shame. _ ” He hissed near Tim’s head, giggling. 

Tim’s head lolled to the side, trying with the rest of control he still had to distance himself from the psychopath. 

“I have an amazing idea for your new identity, dear.” The Joker giggled, walking to the little metal table near the one Tim was deposited. “Let’s put a smile on that pretty face!” The clown yelled with glee while Tim looked at him in time to see a scalpel on the rogue’s hand. 

Oh, God. He was going to die, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. He was sure of it.

“That could be interesting, but let's leave the imbecile with his face the way it is.” The voice, giving away very intense  _ furious  _ vibes, reverberated all around the empty walls of the wherehouse. The Joker stopped, straightening his back in interest and curiosity. That wasn’t Batman’s voice. 

“Well, well, well. And who are you?” He drawled, looking up and not seeing a single thing beyond the light illuminating his ‘operation table’ in the center of the place.

“ _ Your worst nightmare _ .” 

Tim would never forget that day. It would always be ingrained on his mind, between his most important memories, right beside his first patrol night with the feeling of _ flying  _ while grappling and parkouring over the rooftops. 

He would  _ never _ forget how Damian, as Shadow, with his black and grey kind of  _ ninja style  _ uniform complete with a black hood and a face mask covering the low half of his face, appeared out of nowhere  _ behind _ the psychotic clown, disarmed him in one clean sweep and hit his face with his elbow with enough force to  _ break _ the Joker’s nose. 

For a second, Tim could swear Damian’s eyes were glowing  _ green _ . 

Which was not possible. Right?

Shadow wasn’t giving the Joker much room. Still disoriented and not recognizing the new player, he was an easy target to Damian’s fists and feet, receiving the beating he so much deserved. Shadow was precise, brutal and clean on his movements, and it was almost like a  _ dance _ , one of violence too perfect even for Batman’s standards. Damian throwed the Joker away with his own hands, and the man fell over a few boxes scattered around them, coughing up blood and grinning with a few newly missing teeth and his now very heavily bleeding crooked nose. 

Then, when the older boy took the first step at the clown’s direction, ready to keep going on the  _ sweet retribution  _ he was raining upon the trash in front of him, the Joker started laughing uncontrollably, stretching one of his hands to the air with a detonator in his grasp and stopping Damian right where he was. 

“That was actually really fun!” The clown exclaimed, panting. “But it only grows more interesting if you hear me out.” He continued, getting up slowly and clearly with much difficulty, still in a fit of giggles. “If you come after me, I will blow this place to pieces and the little bat dies.” 

Damian didn’t seem very impressed, if his posture without a single twitch was any indication. 

“How original.” He commented, the sarcastic tone of his voice confirming Tim’s impression - Yep, totally unimpressed. “And if I choose to stay and save the imbecile behind me, you will still blow this place up with a time frame to entertainment purposes.” He tipped his head sideways, staring ahead and not giving Tim any glance. 

The Joker scowled, huffing with irritation. “You're  _ no fun _ ! Worse than the Bat!” He complained. 

“Go ahead.” Damian prompted, staring down the clown while crossing his arms. The crazed eyes of the rogue narrowed, and his thumb pushed the red button. 

“Well, kill my joy, will you? Why so  _ serious _ ? Next time, let’s put a smile on  _ your face _ !” The Joker hissed, and soon he disappeared into the darkness. A tiny beep had started as soon as the man pushed the button, and when Damian looked at Tim’s location, he saw the timer under the table with red numbers counting down - with less than a minute left. 

Tim couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. He couldn’t even grasp the concept that  _ Damian _ had come. 

“This is exactly why you should not continue this shameful charade.” The older man stated acidly, efficiently taking off all the bindings holding Tim to the table. “You are not made for this, your training is lacking and you are clearly unprepared for the most nasty aspects of this life.” Damian continued, while throwing Tim over his shoulder like he weighed nothing, shooting his grappling gun to the roof of the wherehouse and escalating the hole present there with Tim secured with one arm. 

The younger boy was just too exhausted to comprehend what the other was saying, and with his head upside down and his face pressed against Damian’s back, he didn’t even have the energy to answer. 

Just as Damian shooted his grappling gun one more time and they swung away from that place, there was the heat accompanied by the deafening  _ boom _ , and together with the destruction of the wherehouse there was a column of fire to the sky, briefly. 

_ Damian had saved him _ . 

“Thanks…” He murmured, his eyes closing on their own accord. 

“ _ Tt. _ ” 

It was the last thing he remembered of that night, and it became one of his most annoyingly favorite sounds ever.

\- 

She was scared. 

Stephanie couldn’t believe nor accept it, but she knew deep inside how scared she truly was. She  _ did _ try to pretend she was not, but with the family she now was part of, it was incredibly hard to maintain any facade. Cass could read her as easily as breathing and Tim wasn’t much different, even if between the two only one was officially a sibling (For now. Bruce wouldn’t resist, she could totally see it happening in a near future. The man was already her Guardian, if Tim’s parents were not attentive enough soon the boy would absolutely become the man’s ward too). 

She considered asking Cass. 

Steph thought back to a few things that had happened in the last four years. Cass and her had been friends for a couple of years before Damian's death (from  _ school _ of all places, because of  _ Ballet _ . Being a good acrobat, very determined and a bit impulsive had landed her a scholarship to Gotham Academy, yay), Steph had figured out her friend’s vigilante life almost six months after his passing, and she had ended up asking for Cass’s help to stop her father’s plans after his release from Blackgate and his return to the crime life - she was absolutely  _ done _ with the man promising to stop  _ and never stopping.  _

However, after a few months it all spiralled out of control because of their inexperience. 

Cass had been the one to stop her father before his web ended up killing Steph - like it did her mother, a horrible  _ collateral damage  _ as he justified himself. Cass was there, fought monsters and won as the incredible Black Bat, saving Steph from death and from a life of loneliness and guilt (the failure of not saving her mother still brought tears of self-loathing to Steph’s eyes when she was alone, laying on her bed waiting sleep to claim her and hoping it would come without nightmares). Batman put Cluemaster on Arkham, and Bruce Wayne took her in - already knowing her and treating her like a daughter, even if as a disobedient one.

Cass had already done too much, she just couldn’t ask her about this. When the other girl volunteered without the need for her to voice it, Steph denied the company. 

Tim tried to volunteer, too. He was such a stubborn and intelligent best friend, she almost caved - what would be so bad in having someone beside her on that particular frightening task? 

But the boy wasn’t fully recovered even after a few months of his encounter with the Joker, he was having relapses, and the stress of this whole situation and the  _ place _ she was going to could make his recovery even more difficult. She wouldn't let him do it.

And she was determined to go. Stephanie could not be afraid of  _ him _ any longer, she couldn’t let Arthur Brown have any power over her anymore. 

So she denied Tim’s company too, and when she finally gathered the courage she needed, she left the manor through the front door determined to call a taxi that could take her to Arkham Asylum - and was greatly surprised to find the one person Stephanie hadn’t thought would actually offer to go with her.

Damian. 

(She didn’t know if she was going to kill Cass or hug her to death for warning big bad  _ bro  _ about her plans)

Almost two years after his death, he had been an incredible and very unwilling big brother to her and Tim after the younger boy’s nightmarish experience with the Joker, making them feel secure and comforted even if the only feelings Damian had for them were exasperation and frustration. So she was definitely not expecting him to actually warm himself to her, enough to  _ demand _ (if it wasn’t for the whole situation and for her nerves, she would totally sass him for his tone) to go with her.

“Don’t lower your intelligence any further, Brown. You are a minor, you still need an adult’s supervision for this. I will not hear any complaints.” Were his words, embedded in irritation but without real heat, before threatening her to hop up on his civilian bike or he would carry her sorry person over his shoulder (Apparently, it was a thing).

Sometimes she asked herself how Damian’s  _ aggressively  _ caring (being ‘aggressively’ really a key word here) could make her feel so secure. 

“Ok, ok! I’m coming!” Steph exclaimed as soon as she saw Damian starting to step at her direction. He huffed impatiently and it only made her giggle. 

Damian was silent after that, a comfortable silence, born from someone that only judged those for their cowardice, and Stephanie was no coward. She was  _ terrified _ , but she was definitely no coward. 

The whole way was a blur. Her hands were trembling as she walked to the visitors block and her legs felt like jelly - in a moment she was going through every safety measure together with Damian, and in the other she was sitting on one side of the glass that separated visitors from prisoners, staring numbly at the face of the man that she never truly knew, considering he spent most of her life in Blackgate. 

She could see his mouth moving around words, but she couldn’t hear a single thing. Suddenly her fear and anxiety became numbness, and while her father seemed content in monologuing, she became capable of noticing other things too. 

Like how Damian’s reflection on the glass emitted protectiveness and anger, something she was sure he wasn’t expecting her to see. 

How he looked exactly like the Big Brother she knew him to be, even from when she only knew him from being  _ Cass’s _ big brother (the one that clearly thought of Steph and Tim as the two extremely aggravating kids that wouldn't leave his little sister alone).

The haughtiness, the nose up in the air - he was so tall now, his presence so strong, and the glare he had always sent to those he thought were beneath him was directed strongly at her father, translating his scorn for the man at the other side of the glass so clearly that somehow Stephanie’s numbness started to turn into confidence. Her mother was dead (almost a year and a half without her, and the pain was not any less than the day it had happened), but Steph wasn’t alone. She would never again be alone. And staring back once again at her father showed to her how Arthur was pretty aware of that: at his tiny glance at Damian’s direction, at his barely noticeable stiffening and nervous energy with her continued silence, she glimpsed something she had already known but had not accepted as a fact yet: he was a weak,  _ weak _ man. 

She grinned, feeling extremely satisfied with how that action was enough for her father to lose his composure. Huh, taking the power for herself could be easier than she had thought.

Sounds returned to make sense inside her head, then.

“I hope you’ll rot in here. Always a pain in my ass to see you, so if you ever think about calling me, please  _ don’t _ .” Stephanie said, talking for the first time since sitting on that plastic and uncomfortable grey chair, feeling extremely proud of herself for how steady she had sounded. Her father sputtered, clearly wanting to say something back, but she just continued with an enthusiastic- “Bye!” turning and leaving the place soon after, ignoring completely his shouted words. 

“Tt” Damian huffed around a smirk, following her out. 

Leaving her father behind, after all the grief and suffering he had caused, turned out to be more liberating than she had ever imagined.

Stephanie passed her arm around Damian’s as soon as they were out of the building and walking at the exit direction where his bike was parked, ignoring his pinched look and subsequent glare of ‘do we really need to?’ like a pro (She was becoming a master on reading Damianness). 

He had done so much with so little, and she knew just the best way of showing her gratitude-

“So, you and Jon, hm?” She grinned, enjoying very much the tiny tick of one of his eyebrows. “I still remember how you two were almost tearing each other’s clothes off-”

“Brown! Why must you be so vulgar?!” He interrupted, very much flustered and indignant.

-teasing him a hell of a lot.

Stephanie laughed, feeling finally free. 

-

There was a tiny Arkham breakout, with like only two big escapes. 

And of course the two in question created a trap. 

Jason should have expected that, it was kind of obvious now that he thought back on it. 

Gotham’s villains were a flashy kind of a competitive lot, after all. There were those focused on crime Lording the hell out of the city, like the Penguin and Black Mask, and there were those focused on creating chaos all around just for the pleasure of challenging Batman every now and then; but the one thing they had in common was to be a real  _ pain in the ass _ . Their  _ need _ for showing each other and Batman up sometimes only served to give the Bat family a lot of headaches and a few premature gray hairs. And considering the Joker was  _ hospitalized _ a few weeks ago, and words on street all talked about how the  _ Shadow _ was the one to put him there after the crazy clown went after another Bat kid… again - of course the shitty villains of this crazy city would want to show how much better than the clown they are: by getting their ugly hands on Damian’s vigilante persona and actually not going to hospital. 

So, luring the Shadow out by doing the exact same thing the Joker did? Totally obvious, he really should have expected it.

Jason was absolutely done with that. Seriously. Considering he had been the one initially trapped by the Joker and saved by Cass and Steph from a painful death - the one Damian felt like beating the shit out of the crazy clown for (especially taking into consideration that the psycho had already tried something similar to Tim, so, yeah), and the one chosen by the Riddler and the Scarecrow for this pathetic kidnapping now  _ too _ … Jason was simply and completely  _ done _ .

“I fell for the Joker’s trap  _ once _ and now I’m bait-for-older-bat-siblings material? Really?” He murmured, snarling at the chain holding him in place. “Oracle was really smart, choosing the brainy way of doing things and staying away from these imbeciles… Oh My God, I’m talking just like  _ that _ asshole.” Jason groaned, banguing his head against the hard wood of the wall behind himself. 

The worst part? 

The whole  _ drama _ .

The Riddler was creating a big ass distraction, with a lot of innocent civilians lives on the line as a way of convincing Batman & Co. to pay attention to him, only; and the Scarecrow kidnapped Batboy expecting the Shadow’s clear protectiveness to act on it (which, unfortunately, was a correct assumption. Jason should really have a talk with his older brother about predictability. Really). After having him where Crane wanted him to, the rogue put two bombs on this place, from what Jason had gathered from the usual monologue he was given while being hit with a light sleeping dart, being tied and carried to this empty abandoned building and chained to the wall like a dog - a very out of it dog, but like a dog nonetheless. One bomb to release an incredibly large amount of fear toxin and another to blow the place to pieces less than five minutes after the first one. 

...

Too much drama, for God’s sake. And really unoriginal, if you asked for his opinion.

After the whole soap opera was created, the man  _ left _ . Yep, he  _ left _ . The Scarecrow wasn’t even  _ present _ , monitoring and controlling everything from a safe distance clearly having at least the common sense of not being in Shadow's punching radius after what he had pulled. 

(It seemed the rogues were now a bit more afraid of the guy, who could have imagined?  _ Huh _ )

However, of course the idiot villain left a few unfortunate goons behind, to try to make things more difficult for Damian when everyone knew, even the thug’s moms, that Shadow was just too good at what he did to not have this shit under control as soon as he got the news. He was just that badass (but Jason would not say that to his face,  _ ever _ . Damian’s ego was already big enough, thank you very much).

And if besides all the above, if,  _ hypothetically, _ the goons had actually taken his comms and every single thing from his utility belt, well, Jason could say with a clear conscience that he was in deep shit. 

(At least the rest of his uniform was intact. Bless small victories!)

He couldn’t say who would be more pissed with the whole situation: Bruce or Damian. At least he knew that using his very charming personality could tame Bruce a little bit - his Dad was such a big softie inside, that Jason was extremely embarrassed when anyone brought up his fear from Batman from four years back. Just. So.  _ Embarrassing _ !

Yet, Damian was not so easily moved. Damn him. He could not resist Cass and Dick’s puppies eyes, but  _ Jason’s _ he would not only  _ snort  _ at, he would  _ flick _ his nose too. So outrageous!

“He’s here!” A yell came from the end of the corridor out of the room Jason was into, waking him from his musings while a tiny explosion was heard and a green gas started to spread all around. 

“Well, look who arrived at the party!” Scarecrow’s voice could be heard from the various speakers scattered through the place. “You only have five minutes, little bat!” The man laughed.

Well. Damn. 

While hearing grunts, thuds of falling bodies and yells of pain between the shots that were going everywhere, Jason found it simply impossible to not breath in any of the fear toxin. His breather was one of those things taken, and his hands were  _ chained _ to a hecking wall. So, yeah, he was kind of forced to breath the damn thing - he could  _ taste _ it by the back of his throat, and man was it  _ disgusting _ .

It took no time at all for Damian to reach him while leaving the unconscious thugs behind. 

He was already noticing tiny effects starting, like seeing a monster where Damian was before, when his brother reached him with a “You hopeless  _ imbecile! _ ” with a horrible growled voice. Jason would forever proclaim he did  _ not _ flinch at that moment, because he  _ obviously _ knew it was not a terrifying monster in front of him, just his brother. Yep. 

“I can not believe this.” The thing growled at him. “Where did my training go? I thought I had taught you better.” It kept growling. 

Jason did not  _ whimper _ . Nope. Never. 

The monster froze. Then he growled a few bad words in  _ Arabic _ \- which by the way,  _ rude _ \- and took out a clear siringue from his own utility belt, taking Jason’s arm with one big clawed hand and injecting the liquid inside the younger boy’s forearm. The monster was slowly becoming Damian again. 

At least he had been lucid enough to not fight back the supposed beast. Damian should thank him later for not making it all even more difficult, seriously.

The next thing he knew, Damian’s  _ breather _ was being put over his own mouth and nose, preventing him from re-intoxicating himself and leaving the other completely unprepared for the gas. 

“But… Wha… You?” He found himself still a bit disoriented, feeling jittery and extremely weak all of a sudden. Oh man. 

“Shut up.” Damian answered, returning his usual mask to its previous position over his face, and aggressively letting him free from the chains. The hallucinations were gone, but apparently the little jumps of being easily scared were still a thing, considering how Jason jumped from the noise of the chains falling to the ground. “Can you walk?” Damian’s voice was strained, and then Jason’s soul almost jumped out of his body, because the next moment, without waiting for an answer, Damian turned his back hastily while being crouched and practically shouted at him “Get on my back!” with a growl of urgency and nervousness not common of him at all. 

There is no need to say that Jason obeyed hurriedly and without question. 

With his legs embracing his brother’s waist and his trembling arms around the older’s neck, Damian concluded Jason was secure enough for them to leave, and as soon as their body left the window starting the jump for the nearest building - the second bomb went off, it’s explosion shoving them with more brutality than both were expecting against the neighbor rooftop (he sure hoped the goons survived, because  _ oh boy _ ). 

Their landing was anything but gentle, both rolling over and over and over until finally stopping almost at the end of the roof they were on, with Damian immediately throwing himself protectively over Jason’s body. For a moment there was no sound, just an insistent never ending ringing noise inside his eardrums, making every tiny movement seem like it was happening in slow motion.

It took a few moments to gather his bearings once more, but eventually he did it.

“Five out of ten for the rescue execution…” Jason mumbled when rocks stopped falling all around them and when his head didn't feel like being buried under cotton. Being totally ignored, he felt Damian rolling off of him and sitting at his side. 

When his older brother didn’t answer his sass back, Jason felt like his heart wanted to jump out of his mouth. Damian  _ never _ stayed silent after one of his cheeky remarks. 

“Shadow?” He called quietly, looking at his brother and finally noticing how his green eyes were  _ wide wide wide _ , and how  _ stiff  _ his whole posture was - more than normal, and with a lack of awareness he was not used to see on someone that was so  _ present _ at all times. “Dames?” Jason called even more quietly, remembering slowly how the other boy had given him his own fear toxin  _ antidote _ and his own  _ breather  _ too. 

Dear God.

Damian was under the toxin’s influence. 

_ Shit _ .

“Damian?” He called again, slowly reaching his hand to the other’s shoulder. As soon as his fingers touched the older boy, Damian startled and turned to him, staring at him with now  _ glowing green eyes _ . 

Jason gasped, seeing it for the first time. He remembered the times Tim had talked about the night Damian had saved him, how he had seen something like this when he was rescued from the Joker, but how at the time he had thought it had been just a light trick. And now, right now, Jason learned that it had actually happened, and that maybe they didn’t really know every important thing about their big brother. 

“I dunno what ya seeing, but its not real.” Suddenly he was so afraid  _ for  _ Damian, that Jason fell back on his old speech. “Focus on ma voice. Everything's fine.” He continued, anxiously. 

Damian blinked once, twice, and then the glowing was gone. 

“No names on the field.” He hoarsely chastised Jason, stiffly getting up. His eyes wandered all around them, straying for a few seconds longer on his own hands before barely focusing back at his younger brother. With almost unnoticeable trembling fingers, Damian tapped his comm to life- “Shadow to O. Batboy is fine. It is a wrap for us.” and announced, with now vacant eyes and a straight and rigid-as-a-rock back. 

Jason couldn’t hear what Tim answered, being without his own comm, and he almost didn’t hear any of the other things Damian said back. After, he would get to know how Cass and Steph were the ones to bring Scarecrow to the police, and how Dick saved all the civilians while Bruce arrested the Riddler. But now, at this moment, he could only absently get up and follow Damian’s orders, focused entirely on making sure his brother was ok enough to arrive home safely - focused on watching Damian’s back with everything he still got, when, after all, his older brother seemed too unable to do so himself. 

And wasn't that a horrifying thought.

He made sure Alfred gave the older boy the antidote just as they arrived back at the Batcave.

And if he kept observing Damian the following days, he felt entirely justified.

Damian had saved him far more times than he could really count. 

-

There had been another Arkham breakout, and Dick was starting to think that maybe they should fortify the place better (Who knows, maybe that way the prisoners would stay  _ in _ prison. Imagine that.  _ Scandalous _ !).

He could admit that things were not going so well. They were all working on this, even Tim whom usually preferred to operate from the Clock Tower as Oracle was actively fighting as Red Bat (and trying really hard together with Jason to disarm the bombs not yet detonated - and well, thinking about it, Dick was actually not sure if those two working together was a good idea at all. He could totally see Batboy trying to convince Red Bat to let a few ‘inoffensive’ explosions go  _ boom _ ). Batman was working to apprehend the Joker, while Cass as Black Bat together with Steph as Batgirl were responsible for Killer Croc. 

Dick, as Robin, was trying to save as many people as possible from the horrible mess a few of the rogues had created, specifically the Joker and the Scarecrow (they had formed such a disturbing team, that Dick shuddered every time he thought about the horrifying collaboration). And Damian, as Shadow, ended up responsible for Scarecrow even after much protest from absolutely everyone in the family, especially after what happened a few months back. The man was just too stubborn for his own good, and it did not matter how distracted he had been since then or even how introspective (way more than he already was, sometimes) he had been acting, Damian wouldn’t hear their worries at all (which was actually pretty normal and frustrating, ugh). 

“Shadow, report.” Batman grunted through the comms, the mad giggling as background making Dick flinch a little bit. Bruce was still dealing with the Joker, apparently. 

He straightened himself after helping a little child out of the wreckage, dividing his attention between the comms and the few civilians he still needed to help. He looked over the destruction of the collapsed building in front of him, one of the places they hadn’t stopped the detonation in time, and felt like crying a little bit. 

It took a few moments for them to hear from Damian, but when it came, it created mixed feelings. “Scarecrow has been dealt with.” He answered, absently, clearly distracted by whatever he was seeing, and then- “A bomb exploded before it should near my location, I am going to see if there are any survivors.” His voice cracked at the end, sending warning bells to everyone, Dick was sure of it. 

“Keep me posted.” Batman huffed quietly, a hidden tone of concern under the gruffness. He rolled his own eyes, asking himself why their dad was so emotionally constipated. It wasn’t so hard to say something like ‘please be careful, do you need help? Never mind, I’m on my way’ or something like that. 

Actually. Well. 

Dick helped the last survivor on the site he was at, and grinning determinately to himself, switched the side button of his domino mask to see the digital map on it’s lenses and access the family’s location. Triumphantly he found the one he was after, already preparing to go to him, doing himself what he thought someone should.

“Red Bat and Batboy, report.” He heard Batman asking next, while he used his grappling gun to the next tall building on his way and ignored completely his brother’s answers. At the distance he could see the place Damian had apparently entered, bursting with flames enough to lighten up the sky right above it, and he corrected his arch to its direction. 

Dick was so focused on his destination, something he would rant to himself a lot later, that he did not see at all the ninjas hidden in the shadows of the next rooftop - that is, until they had already cut his line, making his landing a lot less graceful than he was used to. He grunted, rolling over while trying to reach his balance once more, feeling his heart galloping inside his chest with the burst of adrenaline. When he was up again, standing defensively and pretty much ready to fight, he noticed at last how he had been surrounded. 

Just  _ asterous _ ! 

“Well, things took a turn for the dramatic in a way I was not expecting to.” Dick quipped, grinning. “Were you guys even invited?”

“Oh, little bird, you have  _ no _ idea.”

Dick felt goosebumps crawl over his body as soon as the woman’s voice reached his ears. A beautiful lady appeared, taking soundless steps, smoothly approaching him like a hunter watching its prey, sporting a feral glint on her  _ green _ eyes - eyes so familiar, just as her lithe body and her air of superiority, that the knowledge of  _ who _ she could be just popped inside his mind without any prompting.

The ninjas only made it more obvious, now that he knew what to look for.

“We  _ created _ the party.” She smirked, stopping just a couple feet away from him. “You must be the circus trash Beloved couldn’t leave alone, the last charity case Damian took under his wing.” She continued, keeping one hand over her hip while the other played absently with a dagger. The condescendance dripped from her words, matching the way she looked at him like he was just an annoying insect. 

He ignored the barb, letting the offense fly over his head. The grin he had been sporting left his face, substituted by a focused glare. The others had rarely spoken about the League of Shadows in front of him, the few times they did it were when Damian was absent - travelling in one of his alone times. Dick knew little about his oldest brother’s past, but what he knew was enough to understand how Talia shouldn’t have the chance of facing Damian ever again. 

At the same time, Dick couldn’t deal with this situation alone. Of that, he was certain.

So he touched his comm while staring at Damian’s mother intently, expecting her to stop his action. 

However, when she just arched her eyebrow with that infuriating tiny smirk still present, and when the only thing he could hear was static - he felt his heart pounding even faster inside his chest, suddenly understanding that her confidence and tranquility went beyond her confidence over her own abilities. 

She had jammed his only way of communication. 

Oh man, he was in so much trouble. 

“No need to worry, my dear.” She whispered, taking the last steps to reach him. He forced himself to stay put, waiting for the right moment to act. “By now, my son should have already seen my little message.” The back of her blade caressed his cheek, descending until the tip touched his neck - positioned in a way to raise his chin while he tried to avoid being cut open, forcing the blank of his white lenses of the domino's mask to stare at her satisfied gloating face. 

At that moment he understood Jason’s talk about Damian’s overprotectiveness being such a predictable factor for villains. 

Damn.

“Step away from him, Mother.” 

Dick startled a bit, flinching when the blade nicked his skin. Talia just smiled, tipping her head sideways while looking at her only child right at the edge of the rooftop they were all on. 

“Damian, my Alexander.” She began, “Have you forgiven you mother, my son?” And continued, still keeping the tip of the dagger near Dick’s neck. He couldn’t see Damian from the position he was in, but Dick hoped against hope that his older brother had alerted the rest of the family to what was happening. 

“No.” Damian’s voice ringed with finality. “And I never will.” 

Talia’s face contorted with a tiny variety of emotions, from hurt and sadness to anger, and for a tiny instant, the blade pierced his skin one more time. “Such a shame. This could all be easier if you had.” 

And then there was chaos. The ninjas jumped at Damian’s direction, and the sounds of fighting dominated the air. 

However, the tiny distraction it all created was the perfect opportunity to distance himself from the woman that called herself Damian’s mother. With a gloved hand, Dick redirected the dagger’s tip away from himself, while jumping to the opposite direction and creating a much needed space between them - enough to allow him to fight too, which he did immediately. Talia was strong and agile, her movements very similar to Damian’s, but at the same time more deadlier: like she was actually not holding back, and killing him wasn’t out of the question. 

Deep down, Dick knew his brother’s fighting style was a creation of a great variety of teachers - from the ones of his childhood with the League of Shadows, to their Dad and the others he trained under during the year he was thought to be dead. His controlled aggression at every hit, with his movements made to be precise with force enough to only incapacitate, made him the great warrior he was. But seeing how Dami’s Mother fought, Dick felt saddened: because even with the other teachings he had had, Damian still fought similarly to the one that had betrayed him so deeply. 

And unfortunately, Dick still was inferior to Damian when they trained together. 

“Stop, or I'll kill him. You know I will.” Talia voiced coldly, holding Dick against her chest with the dagger now fully turned to his neck. Guilt and self-loathing consumed him whole as soon as he stared ahead, to the image of Damian stopping his fight immediately. The majority of the ninjas were down, at least, and between the negative emotions Dick couldn’t help himself from feeling very proud too. 

“What do you want, Mother.” Damian hissed, his green eyes narrowing dangerously. “I can already imagine what you are going to say, but I would like to hear it from your mouth.” He continued, raising his own chin and glaring at her the same way she had glared at Dick: like she was absolutely nothing. 

“We have let you wander around enough, my child. It’s time for you to come back.” She answered, tightening the arm around Dick’s shoulders. “And if you don’t, maybe we will take this little Robin with us instead.” 

Damian lowered his face mask while taking a step ahead, his expression absolutely  _ thunderous _ , scowling furiously- “You will do no such a thing!” while he yelled, his eyes  _ blazing _ green. The few ninjas still up readied their instances. 

Dick’s heart jumped, his now dry mouth open in surprise. He had heard Jason talking about glowing emerald eyes with Tim, but he never thought he would witness it. 

“So you know what you have to do.” Talia commented victoriously. 

“No…” Dick mumbled, seeing his oldest brother's expression turning on something terrifyingly resigned. “Dami, no!” 

“Find the others.” Damian stared at him, directly. Serious. Clearly, there was no debating his decision. “Let him go, and you have me.” He turned his blazing eyes to his mother, making his body language as unthreatening as possible. 

“Very well. But first, let me guarantee it, shall we?” As soon as she ended up asking, there were handcuffs -  _ strange _ handcuffs - being put on Shadow's wrists and shins, with chains connected to them in a way that the ninjas were holding Damian’s arms and legs open, controlling his every movement from that moment forward. 

At last, a metal collar, apparently from the same material the handcuffs were made of, was put around Damian’s neck. 

Unshed tears filled Dick’s eyes, hidden behind the lenses of the domino mask. It was like watching his oldest brother, the strongest of them all, the most proud and loving one - even with the hard carcass and the many walls Damian used to protect himself - being treated like an  _ animal _ . 

“ _ Find the others _ .” Damian repeated, avoiding his unflinching horrified eyes. 

When Talia released him, Dick ran.

He needed his family. He couldn’t win nor save Damian alone. 

A hundred feet away from the group, Robin heard his comm come to life,  _ Bruce’s _ voice anxiously yelling from the other side “-an! Damian, answer me!” 

“... Help!” He gasped, sobbing, interrupting his dad frantically and simply not stopping- “She has him. Oh my God, she has him! Please, Dad!” 

Too many voices asked him what had happened. All his siblings, immediately on alert with his urgency, asking him for details, telling him they were on their way.

(The last time they had heard Dick crying that way was the night his parents had died, back when they weren't even siblings) 

He looked one last time to where he left his most precious brother, and his heart broke into a million pieces with the now  _ empty  _ rooftop. 

Damian was gone. 

  
_And it was_ _his fault._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you are all safe out there! 
> 
> A kind of character study? Inside my AU. Hope you all like it ^^

It all started the night he was exposed to the fear toxin. 

It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last. However, for reasons he could not comprehend, that single episode was enough to bring back memories better forgotten, things that had happened years ago when he was lost in so many ways. 

That day, while he focused all of his capacities into saving Jason from that situation, protecting him with his own antidote and breather, even after the hallucinations had already started - of blood pouring from Jason's cut-open throat, of his own hands seeming to be drenched with the same blood, of his Grandfather's taunts, the ones saying how he had always known Damian was indeed such a backstabber - he was successful on ignoring it all for enough time to take them both out of that place right in time. His muscles were taut, his entire being was filled with anxious energy of seeing and hearing things that objectively he knew weren't there - but there was no time for thoughts, only for action.

There was no time to fall for his fears, so he just did not. 

Throwing himself over his baby brother on the rooftop, his hearing muffled after the explosion, was just instinct. Protecting him with his own body was second nature, something that his ten year old self would have never thought possible at all. And after that, after knowing his little brother was  _ safe _ , his control of all the things the toxin wanted him to see and hear turned off for the next few minutes (something that felt so much like an eternity). One moment he was protecting Jason, and the next he was staring ahead without really seeing, only catching a tiny glimpse of the corpses of the people he cared for scattered all around them - a true mess of death and betrayal, with clear signs of  _ his doing _ , of Damian himself being the one responsible for the massacre - like an enormous kryptonite shard stuck at the left side of Jon's chest, or his precious sword going through his Father's neck. 

Being presented with all that imagery, he noticed that there was fear, yes; but that it wasn't actually the most prominent emotion. It wasn't what made him feel, at that moment, the Pit wanting to take control over his mind once more, after so long of being capable to hold it off. It was the foreboding of somehow knowing he could actually make it all become reality. That, somehow, he could be compromised enough to kill his lover, his father and his siblings - and the thought of hurting his brothers and sisters was enough to make him feel like dying himself. 

(The most prominent feeling was  _ sorrow _ )

When Jason's voice reached him finally, his name being called and being followed by the words muttered with the younger boy's old accent - “I dunno what ya seeing, but its not real. Focus on ma voice. Everything's fine" said with a shaking voice and an insecure glint on his eyes, Damian was finally capable of at least pushing down the Pit's influence.

His brother still needed him.

(The image of blood dripping down from Jason's mouth was still present, just like the presence of his mother whispering by his ear how proud she was of his assassin's skills - how powerful he was, for killing a Kryptonian and his family entirely on his own)

Blinking awareness back into himself, Damian took a last look around - still seeing the carnage his deepest fear expressed, still staring at his own hands seeing them drenched with blood - and gathered himself enough to wrap things up, enough to finally report back to Timothy and being sure his other brother was fine too. 

He could control his fear. He was strong enough to be in control of himself. 

On his way back home, it didn't matter where he looked, he could only see the destruction and the death he could cause. His hands were perpetually dirtied with blood, and all his victims' faces were scattered all around, staring at him on their last moments. 

It didn't stop after he was administered the antidote.

It had all started after the events of that night, and he was helpless to control it. 

-

_ It was like watching a God.  _

_ A  _ **_war_ ** _ God.  _

_ Damian attacked fluidly and with  _ **_deadly_ ** _ movements, every hit by every stolen weapon was made with purpose and incredible accuracy, meant to never miss. Every enemy down amounted to more blood, and soon Damian was  _ **_covered_ ** _ in it, creating the most terrifying image those facing him had ever seen.  _

_ With dark crimson droplets falling from his clothes and from the blade he held with one hand, with his eyes shining a nauseating Lazarus green nonstop and his face contorted in a furious scowl… _

_ Damian looked like  _ **_Death_ ** _.  _

_ And he felt like it.  _

_With a war cry he threw himself against every adversary with clean, delirious and furious abandon, going on the energy the_ ** _hate_** _feeded him remorselessly and seamlessly without effort. Every sword was used to kill it’s own master, just as every light bomb was used to blind everyone besides himself and every grenade was thrown to cause the most damage. Every dead body was left behind while he ran through the corridors killing every living thing that came on his way. The_ ** _rage_** _was too intense, too consuming, and the feeling of deep betrayal seemed to fuel it even more. He didn’t know who nor where he was - the only thing that mattered at that moment was the thought that kept going and going and going inside his head_ ** _kill_** **_them all_** _, it screeched with a childish voice he barely recognized as his own (a younger, cracking one). After all, his instincts were yelling at him to fight his way to freedom because, apparently, deep down, his broken mind seemed to grasp a single belief: these people only wanted his harm._

_ Whispers of lost memories were drowned out by the cries of the assassins he killed, by his own shouts of pure unadulterated rage - and somewhere, the voice of a woman (that only fueled him more and more and more  _ **_and more_ ** _ ) ringed without purpose, asking for forgiveness when he clearly wouldn’t give it at all. If she had asked for mercy, instead, maybe he could have thought about it. He ignored the laugh of a man too satisfied with the carnage to care about his failed plan and ignored every injury his body suffered with adrenaline pumping inside his veins. He kept going, even after reaching the outside world - dark and cold, the night suffering through an unrelenting blizzard, and he just kept going and going and going - until he just could no more.  _

Damian woke with a start. 

Laying down on his bed, breathing too fast and drenched in sweat, he fumbled with his sheets trying to ground himself in the  _ here _ and  _ now _ , a day after his encounter with the Scarecrow. He was not in some League’s base, he was  _ not _ freshly out of the Lazarus Pit and definitely not consumed so completely by the feelings of betrayal and hate - he was not under the Pit Madness killing everyone on his path. He was not seventeen anymore, not just a child forcibly brought back to life by a Grandfather greedy enough to not let his vessel rest in peace - even after Damian’s own Mother being the one responsible for having him killed. He was not  _ there _ any longer, not on a murderous rage that would eventually simmer down to show just how hurt he really was inside. Damian was not that same killer without memories, with only the strongest of the feelings, with bottomless intensity enhanced by the Pit. He was not that kid any longer.

Yet,  _ why  _ could he still feel blood dripping from his clothes and body or even his hands full of it - dirty and stained with all the killings he had made in so little time? He wasn't under the toxin's effects anymore. The aftereffects should have been gone, already.

Trembling all over, he jumped from his bed and went directly to the bathroom, not even taking off his shorts while entering the shower stall and opening the tap without caring about the temperature of the water. He only needed to  _ be clean _ . He despairingly needed to feel his skin without the crusted texture of dried blood all over it, or even feel his mouth free of the irony taste of the few droplets that fell inside it while he screamed his uncontrollable and all consuming rage during his killing spree. He needed to  _ forget _ that moment of his life, where he was less Damian Wayne and more Damian Al Ghul than ever. 

Trembling even worse with the cold water hitting his shoulders, ignoring completely the sensation of freezing over, he stared unseeingly at the ground and at the drain. His mind was elsewhere, far away enough to confuse the transparent water draining down the drain with a red red  _ red _ one-

Mindlessly, he started to scrub his hands and arms.

The sensation of being covered in blood seemed to never leave. Even rubbing his skin raw, the sensation wouldn't leave him be. He despaired of not being ever capable of getting rid of it - or even not being able of letting go of his own memories.

For the rest of the day, and for the next ones, he was plagued by flashes of each person he had ever murdered. 

And, sadly, the list was way longer than he would have preferred it to be.

-

Patrol nights were now a blur. Sometimes, he could not explain how he went from point A to B, his mind multitasking without thinking about it. He caught himself more often than not lost inside his own head while his body worked on autopilot, dancing through his fights with the ease of someone that had learned to be an unity with his instincts.

He didn't feel like talking at all. The family clearly thought he should, but he kept to himself.

There was no need to plague any of them with his guilt, with the whole list of his sins. It was his burden to carry, and he was not ready to share it with anyone else.

-

_When he woke up again, his mind was misted with_ green _and_ _his body ached all over. He could barely remember what had happened before losing his conscience, every recent memory blurring in indistinguible flashes before his closed eyelids. However, the cold numbness, the one born from the need to defend himself against everything, descended on him once again as soon as he felt a warm hand touch his forehead._

_It all happened too fast. His bare hands crushed the neck of the person at his side without effort, his blazing green eyes looked crazily at everywhere at the same time, alighted with ferocious danger and murderous intent. There was shouts, a human male trying to take him away from the female corpse he dropped at the ground and only achieving on having his head brutally smashed on the corner of the table until he wasn't actually there anymore._

_There was someone crying._

_When he woke up again, his mind was misted with_ green _and_ _his body ached all over. He could barely remember what had happened before losing his conscience, every recent memory blurring in indistinguible flashes before his closed eyelids. However, the cold numbness, the one born from the need to defend himself against everything, descended on him once again as soon as he felt a warm hand touch his forehead._

_ It all happened too fast. His bare hands crushed the neck of the person at his side without effort, his blazing green eyes looked crazily at everywhere at the same time, alighted with ferocious danger and murderous intent. There was shouts, a human male trying to take him away from the female corpse he dropped at the ground and only achieving on having his head brutally smashed on the corner of the table until he wasn't actually there anymore.  _

_ There was someone crying.  _

_ When Damian looked at the corner of the room, ready to kill the last person still alive, his jumbled mind registered for the first time that he was not at  _ **_that_ ** _ place again. There were no assassins, nor weapons; only a child, a little girl holding her doll to her chest while crying and sobbing, clearly frightened beyond belief.  _

_ Scared of  _ **_him_ ** _.  _

_ He took the situation in: the child’s mother dead with unblinking eyes and a crushed neck, dropped carelessly beside the cot he assumed was where he had been sleeping; the father, with his head open where he fell after Damian’s attack. There was nothing but trauma, sadness and nightmares for the child after this. She would never survive on the snowed in mountain alone, wondering if the man that had killed her parents, after they helped him back to health, would come back for her too. _

_ Even if his eyes, now green like his mother’s, were not glowing anymore, Damian turned to the little girl with resolute steps.  _

_ With her, he was gentle. As gentle as a killer could be.  _

“Shadow!”

He startled, tearing his eyes away from the little body at his feet and staring directly at the white lenses of the Batman cowl. His Father’s jaw was tense in the way he recognized as  _ worried _ , which almost never was directed at him anymore. 

Feeling unhinged for a moment, Damian took a few seconds to remember where he was and what he had been doing before zoning out to one of the flashbacks that insisted on pestering him for the last few weeks. Taking a step back while looking around him, his heart beating frantically inside his ribcage, he took in the scene of the small abandoned warehouse where their lead had taken them while investigating the possible serial killer on the loose on Gotham. Batman was the only one there with him, a hand weakly holding out in his direction as if he thought Damian would lose consciousness at any minute. 

He stared at the little body at his feet once more, noting detachedly how the girl resembled the one he had killed after his resurrection, the one he convinced himself would be better dead than living with the horrors he had forced upon her when he killed her family. It was stupid of him, considering it was only the brown hair and the ethnic little traits that were barely similar - but it didn't matter when it was enough to send his mind to another time and place. 

“Are you ok?” His Father asked, gaining his attention again. Damian stared at him mutely, breathing deeply while tightening his hands in fists only to disguise their anxious trembling. He nodded, trying to center himself once again. Batman clearly didn’t believe him, but his Father let it slide for the time being. 

Damian barely registered the words directed at him, the talk over the comms - he kept staring at the child, feeling too exposed even with his black face mask and hood, even with the dark and practical uniform that inevitably resonated more with his past than it should: the clothes too similar to those of the League, but with a red dark bat on his chest (the only color beyond grey and black) that declared his true alliance. He felt like hiding, like traveling all around the country once more - alone, helping as Shadow other unfortunate places beyond Gotham. 

Yet.

There was something in the air, something he couldn’t decipher. Something that felt like magic that screamed at his instincts to be prepared, to protect protect  _ protect- _

Telling him to stay. 

And he did.

-

_ He remembered his own name without trying to. It felt too important to forget, even if everything else was too nebulous inside his mind.  _

_ He kept his name to himself, not giving power over his person to anyone he encountered. _

_ He travelled alone. Travelled down the mountains, finding himself in India, then Pakistan, Iran and Turkey, not stopping anywhere for too long. Always on the defensive, mostly by himself, trying to control the consuming rage that bubbled under his skin constantly, fleetingly learning new things from different masters through his way - new fighting styles or new meditation techniques, even a bit of magic, only the basics. Hiding without truly understanding why, fleeing to the west following the whisper of the wind calling for him. Fighting his own mind to remember  _ **_who_ ** _ he was without losing himself to the  _ green green green green-

_ Everywhere, there was this  _ **_urge_ ** _ to stop bad things from happening, even if his method of killing the perpetrators left a sour taste on his mouth. Every occurrence was followed by a sensation of doing wrong, but he could not understand where he was erroring. Still, there were rumors about him, people from over all the places he passed through talking about a shadow that travelled at night stopping murderers and rapists without leaving a trace behind. The would-be victims incapable of seeing more than his glowing green eyes in the darkness, the man too fast to determine any other characteristics.  _

_ He became one with nature, heightening his senses even more than the Pit already had, focusing on being always alert even while meditating - hunting for his food, practicing simple spells that could help him is his journey. He felt like a walking paradox, something that shouldn’t  _ be  _ \- but that  _ was _. The bloodthirst was hard to control, the hate was almost as difficult to subdue. However, he knew he was succeeding. The Shadow grew as a myth even when he started to only incapacitate the criminals - and more and more times his eyes were not glowing anymore.  _

_ No one could catch the Shadow. No one could see the Shadow. He was one with the darkness, too fast and strong, hard to identify. He was a blur at night, saving different people from so many countries that it seemed impossible it was just one person.  _

_ He kept going west, passing through the Europe continent restlessly, stealing clothes and other bare necessities and always unconsciously avoiding showing his face to any camera in the way. Damian didn’t understand why he felt such a pull to that direction, he still couldn’t remember who he was before the day he killed his path to freedom; but he kept going, feeling his heart beat frantically every time he heard someone speaking in english, like his body did remember something his mind still struggled to. _

_ Until, one day, after entering a small and cozy coffee shop of a tiny town in France, with the tv on and broadcasting a news channel - he was faced with a gossip show talking animatedly about an american billionaire's new 'acquisition', Bruce Wayne’s new ward, Stephanie Brown.  _

_ The photograph they showed together with the talking topic was the trigger for his memories to start coming back.  _

_ The feelings of betrayal that once he thought he would only feel for his Mother, started to fester inside him as soon as he looked at the little smile on his  _ Father’s _ face - like a disease, like poison against the one he had thought that treated him more than a  _ thing _ , more than a simple weapon or a means to an end. It had been almost a year since his death, and his Father had already moved on enough to objectively adopt Cassandra’s little friend.  _

_ That night he understood why he kept going west (Gotham), and the knowledge together with what he had learned at that coffee shop made his eyes glow one more time. _

Gotham was in flames. 

Damian blinked, staring unseeing at the licks of fire burning multiple buildings. He didn’t remember reaching that rooftop, which could be worrisome. One moment he was taking Scarecrow down while the family was running against time itself to stop the bombings from going off and to take down the other rogues that had escaped Arkham too, and in the next he was staring at the destruction one of the explosives had caused - before the timer was supposed to go off. 

“Shadow, report.” He heard his Father over the comms and numbly pushed at the tiny button over his ear, while starting his descent to the building bursting in flames. Entering through one of the big broken glass windows, with his own breather under his mask protecting him from the smoke, he walked with purpose around the floor looking for anyone needing help

“Scarecrow has been dealt with.” He answered absently, looking through the flames for the feminine screams for help he could hear in the middle of the chaos. “A bomb exploded before it should near my location, I am going to see if there are any survivors.” He was distracted enough to not even care how his voice cracked right at the end. 

Standing near a closed door, he heard the calls coming from the other side. “Keep me posted.” Batman huffed quietly, a hidden tone of concern under the gruffness he didn't dare to focus on. "Red Bat and Batboy, report.” He heard his Father asking next, and ignoring his brother's answers, he shouted a quick ‘Stay away from the door’, waited for five seconds and kicked it open.

It was a bedroom, half of its roof caved in while the rest burned to ashes. "Miss?" He called, feeling sweat forming on his forehead with all the heat. 

Just as he took a step inside the place, he was forced to do a backflip in order to avoid a sword cutting him in half. When he looked up, he was actually surprised to see  _ Lady Shiva _ in person in front of him. She didn’t give him any time to prepare any strategy, after that one second of recognition she was attacking him once again, forcing him to draw his own blade into battle. Their movements were synced, each of their styles bred from a mixture of inherent talent and hard work. Like a death dance, each step making the difference between their own survival, their blows met each other with enough force to create tremors of effort on their arms. 

“What are you doing here?” Damian hissed, holding his sword against Shiva’s forming a X, staring at her with their faces between the blades. 

“Can’t you guess?” She smirked, putting her face even nearer to his, pushing harder her sword against his own. “Keeping you away from a little bird, of course.” 

Damian could remember every time he was afraid for his siblings. _ Truly _ afraid. 

That day turned out to be one of those moments, with  _ Robin _ echoing inside his head with alarm. 

Reacting faster than even he thought he was capable of, he pushed Shiva’s sword away as he jumped back and away from her too. At the same time, throwing his free hand at her direction, he shouted a simple fire spell - taking advantage of the flames already available all around them to create a heat wall between them with force enough to barricade Lady Shiva at the other side of the burning fire. 

“... and I are almost finishing Croc here, because we are that badass-”

“I need Robin’s coordinates  _ now _ !” He shouted at his comm, interrupting Batgirl’s report that until that moment he wasn’t even aware was happening, and running out of that place, knowing he had encased his opponent in a cage of fire for enough time to escape. 

“Shadow? What-?”

“For once in your life, stop questioning me and give me what I asked!” He shouted sharply, interrupting Timothy’s confused reaction and jumping away from the burning building, using his grappling gun while in the middle of the air - flying to the nearest building as the seconds of stunned silence stretched after his outburst. 

“Southeast from your position, just a few blocks away.” Red Bat answered with hurt and worry clear on his voice, and Damian was running in the said direction before Tim was even finished. 

“Shadow, report right now!” Batman snapped. 

But there was no time. 

It took a few seconds, but as soon as his green eyes laid upon the scene over one of the rooftops, his heart - already beating frantically - almost stopped inside his chest. 

_ Cassandra was fighting too many at the same time, and the Heretic would go after her if he didn’t stop him. He would not let him.  _

Richard, his littlest brother, surrounded by the League - his Mother’s blade held against Robin’s neck with deadly precision. He could see in those green eyes, so similar to his own, how serious she was about her threat, how  _ ready _ to go through it she actually was. 

_ “Call him off at once… Mother…” His battered body, hoarse voice. Just a kid forced to grow up too fast. A teenager, protecting his little sister - protecting the city his Father was so devoted to. _

The blade nicking Richard’s skin, his blood falling slowly in a line down his neck, after Damian made himself known. His Mother’s attention, with her sweetened voice created to soft her manipulation. 

After so long, so many years from her betrayal, his murder by her hands - even if not literally - he didn’t crave her presence anymore, and yet, he was forced to endure it once more. 

_ “Forgive me, my Alexander. It wasn’t by my order!”  _

_ Green green green everywhere, blood all over him, people dying by his hands on his rage path. Words by a woman he couldn’t remember objectively, but a voice capable of fueling his hurt and hate to the highest levels-  _

Fighting, always fighting. Never stopping fighting. Even if the reason behind it changed so much from the beginning, when he was nothing more than a tool, a weapon; even when he fought, now, for those he loved. 

For the family that taught him how to belong.

_ Green green green all around him, and the feeling of his heart being pierced by a sword  _ fresh _ on his mind, even if he barely remembered anything about himself besides his own name.  _

_ And pain. He would always remember the  _ **_pain_ ** _. _

Richard was held hostage. Damian would be helpless to stop his Mother before she did exactly what she was saying she would do. Knowing that if Talia had already been capable of killing her only child once, Robin would be no hardship to murder too. And then, the Pit making itself known once again, already too many times after years trying to control it completely-

_ Damian Al Ghul.  _

_ He could only remember that, even if it felt  _ **_wrong_ ** _ , so wrong.  _

A bargain. A sacrifice made without any doubt, and shackles capable of nullifying magic. Richard’s eyes filled with tears and despair, a look Damian would never forgive his Mother for putting it on his baby brother’s face. Complete silence from his comm, even if he knew his family must be beyond worried by now. Love, too much love, uncontrollable love for the people that teached him a life different from the one his Mother envisioned.

Then, the only words capable of taking Richard away from him, away from the League and from his Mother. An order, without room to questioning, without chance of denial. A shot to safety, to this love that would keep protecting his little brother. 

‘ _ Find the others _ ’

Find the family, went unsaid, because it wasn’t really necessary to voice it. 

Determination. Resignation. So many feelings and emotions. Richard leaving, getting away from the danger- 

Damian knew he would rather die than let anything happen to any of his siblings. 

  
(He would rather  _ kill _ than let anyone hurt his family)


End file.
